


The Worst Thing?

by millygal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Related, M/M, season 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 10:08:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12274227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: Slop, that's all it is, and it's driving Sammy crazy!





	The Worst Thing?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you as always to my faithful and wonderful beta jj1564, but also, this is a direct result of a gif Sam Daily post by casey28 so - THANK YOU BB! Hope you like it. Based off the episode 12:09 First Blood.

Fuck _this_ **crap**.

Fuck it **hard**.

With a rusty nail embedded baseball bat.

It’s bad enough Sam’s about ready to burst from boredom and worry, that his mind is slowly dribbling out of his ears staring at the same cement walls hour after hour, day after day, and that his skin is quite literally itching from the god awful grey jumpsuit he’s been forced to wear for fuck knows how long, but the worst, the absolute worst thing about this fucking place, is the food.

Slop, daily doses of pig swill on a plate, and he’s close to smashing his forehead into the floor to get a little light relief from having to shovel it down his throat just to keep his strength up.

Placing his tray carefully next to his bunk and giving it a violent shove with his foot, Sam takes great pleasure in it slamming into the wall and spilling nondescript disgustingness all over the floor.

A decade later and he still can’t fucking stand prison food.

Standing, cracking his shoulders, swinging his head from side to side, trying to work out the knots forming at the base of his skull, Sam steps up to the wall and slaps his palm flat against it twice before pressing his lips tight to the cold cement separating him from his brother. “Hey, Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“You know what I miss?”

“What?”

“Those artery clogging home made burgers you keep tempting me into eating. Gherkins, onions, cheese, crispy bacon, grease dripping down my chin. God, what I wouldn’t give to sink my teeth into those amazing toasted brioche buns!”

Dean’s ear is shoved up against the wall, straining to hear the whine in Sam’s voice as he cusses and spits about the lack of decent food and despite their situation, despite his near madness from isolation, Dean can’t help smirking. “Little brother, you might wanna rein it in, I can hear drool dripping on the floor from my cell.”

Sam chuckles and licks his lips. “Seriously, when we get out of here I’m gonna throw you in the kitchen in a _Kiss the Chef_ apron and I’m not letting you out until I can’t button my fly.”

“Only if you promise to actually kiss the chef, speaking of, I’ve figured out how to add a fourth cheese to my Mac’n’Cheese!”

Sam actually groans out loud at that, imagining unctuous melted cheese burning his tongue because he can’t wait for it to cool down. “Dude, stop it, I’m pretty sure they don’t need to see me beating one off to the thought of your cooking.”

Dean laughs loud and long, and imagines Sam’s face as he tries desperately not to chew a hole out of the inside of his cheek. “Wait until you see the soufflé I was working on before these fuckwits decided we needed a vacation to all points nowhere.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

The Winchesters are the most confounding men.

They’re faced with endless days full of nothing but lack of sunshine and contact with the outside world, and yet they continue to defy the laws of mental capacity by chatting incessant bullshit through three inches of concrete.

None of the guards will ever admit it, but they’ve all impressed their wives and husbands, girlfriends and boyfriends, at least once by borrowing one of Dean’s many recipes.

They’re pretty sure if they told him they were getting laid on a regular basis because of his prowess in the kitchen, he’d high five them, before beheading them.

 

Fin.


End file.
